


Challenge of Life

by kairyu



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions, Pocket Monsters: Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon | Pokemon Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon Versions
Genre: (Kinda? It's a rewrite), (of sorts), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, more tags tba, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29593878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kairyu/pseuds/kairyu
Summary: No matter what, Ash is going to have fun in Alola. He's going to fit in.Or: Some dishevelled kid from Kanto and his run-of-the-mill electric rat deliver an egg to the Hau'oli district school. Somehow, this draws the attention of the local gods. (Predictably, Ash is the only one who isn't surprised. It wouldn't be a journey of his if it didn't involve a deity or ten.)
Relationships: Satoshi | Ash Ketchum & Satoshi no Pikachu | Ash Ketchum's Pikachu, Satoshi | Ash Ketchum & The Entire Alola Gang
Comments: 72
Kudos: 209





	1. Schools, Skulls, and Surges

The kid showed up on a breezy Friday afternoon with an egg tucked irreverently under his arm and a pikachu clinging to his cap, weighing it down so it plastered itself uncomfortably to his head.

Kiawe didn’t think much of him, at first, but he was curious enough about the arrival of an outsider to traipse away from the rest of his class and watch, a tad suspiciously, as the kid battered on Principal Oak’s door with enough force to threaten to knock it down. That suspicion quickly became confusion; the principal opened the door to him with a familiar grin, fingers curling beneath the pikachu’s chin as though greeting an old friend.

“Ah, young Satoshi!” he said, warm and bright, nodding at the egg ‘young Satoshi’ now held between his palms. “I’ve been _eggs_ -pecting you.”

Kiawe stifled a groan.

“Hi, Professor Oak!” the kid responded, his inflection that of a foreigner—though Kiawe didn’t know enough about the world to hazard a guess at which region he hailed from. His pikachu leaned into the principal’s touch with a happy _chaa,_ tail quivering. “Professor Oak said you would be.” He passed the egg over, and the principal rolled it into the crook of his elbow, cradling it gently. “The egg’s fine, by the way. I only dropped it once on the way here!”

Kiawe’s eyes bulged out of their sockets; to his dismay, the principal only laughed, patting the smooth shell of the egg. “And it’s still in one piece! Sam was right to trust you with it.”

“Mm hmm,” the kid agreed, and Kiawe spluttered, the sound loud enough to draw their attention. “Oh,” the kid said, then, turning full-body to face him. His eyes were sharper than Kiawe’d thought they’d be, but he held himself casually, shoulders slouched and head tipped back to counterbalance the weight of his pikachu.

As though sensing its trainer’s growing discomfort, said pikachu slid down the kid’s back, over to his front, and into the net of hands waiting to catch it.

“Kiawe!” Principal Oak exclaimed, still smiling beatifically. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

Kiawe straightened, spine rigid. “Professor Kukui’s not back from—” he gestured vaguely. The kid’s gaze tracked his every motion, and it weirded him out, a little bit. “Whatever he said he had to do. But—” he rounded on the kid, then, stalking closer until he could brandish a finger at him, “what do you _mean,_ you _only_ dropped it _once?”_

The pikachu in the kid’s arms bristled, cheeks crackling with lightning. Wisely, Kiawe shuffled back—but not by much.

“Uh,” the kid said, blinking rapidly, “I mean I only dropped it once! Eggs are real tough, you know. I’ve seen ‘em survive floods, fires, landslides—”

 _“Landslides?”_ Kiawe was aware his voice had pitched dangerously close to a shout, and that his behaviour was unbecoming, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel any shame. The kid mumbled something that sounded like _that time wasn’t my fault,_ and Kiawe yelled, _“That_ time?”

Principal Oak cleared his throat. Appropriately cowed, Kiawe folded his arms defensively over his chest and retreated until he was no longer breathing right in the kid’s face.

“Sorry,” he muttered—but not to the kid, who was staring at him oddly, brow all crumpled and mouth set in a hard, narrow line. His pikachu seemed similarly frustrated, as though the both of them shared one mind, one heart, one point of view. “I just—”

“Care about pokémon, I know,” the principal soothed. “Your passion is admirable, Kiawe, but you needn’t worry. My cousin gave me his _assurance_ that there was no-one better to ensure this egg arrived here safely, and I trust his judgement. And eggs _are_ hardy. It takes more than a simple fall to harm them.”

Kiawe didn’t, because anyone whose idea of a trustworthy courier was one who considered _dropping their delivery_ a _success_ was clearly out of their mind, but he kept that to himself. The principal’s words _did,_ however, work to smother the flames of indignation building within his gut.

Then, the principal went and ruined things by bringing his hands together in a thunderous _clap_ and saying, “I know! Since Professor Kukui hasn’t returned yet, why don’t you show him—” and here, he placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder— “around? This is his first time in Alola, after all.” His eyes dropped back down to the kid. “You don’t have anywhere to be, do you?”

The kid shook his head, and his expression shifted into something a little more personable at the idea of exploration.

“I,” Kiawe started, ready to protest, and then stopped. It was not wise, he knew, to argue with the principal, so he swallowed his rising upset and nodded once, sharply. “Sure, I guess.”

“Excellent.” Principal Oak’s smile widened, just a touch. “I’m sure the two of you will be fast friends in no time.”

Kiawe doubted it. He would much rather leave the kid to his own devices and return to his classmates, but the kid was looking at him determinedly, now, something brighter in his face, and Kiawe supposed that if _anyone_ was going to show him Melemele, it ought to be someone who showed the island—the _region_ —the reverence it was owed.

“Let’s go,” he said, words exhaled in a sigh, and departed the way he’d arrived, the kid hot on his heels with his pikachu still folded against his chest, trapped within the x of his arms.

They meandered down the hall in silence, save for the kid’s occasional, inane comments about the walls, or the ceilings, or any pokémon that happened to flutter by one of the windows. That there were people out there who’d never heard of oricorio before, for whom the sight of a _pikipek_ was cause for wonder—

Though, Kiawe supposed, the kid _did_ look a little green. Pikachu weren’t the strongest pokémon out there—hell, they weren’t even fully evolved—and when his eyes dropped to the kid’s belt, Kiawe couldn’t see any other poké balls.

A new trainer, then.

“That’s a ribombee,” he said when one zipped past, drawing the kid’s attention so much so that he pressed his face to the glass to get a closer look. “It’s a bug and fairy type, and it evolves from cutiefly.”

“Fairy type, huh? There are a _lot_ of fairy types in Kalos. My friend—Serena—she has a sylveon, and Bonnie has a dedenne.”

The kid’s pikachu said, “Pika-pika! Pika- _chu,”_ and the kid nodded enthusiastically, lots of _uh huhs_ and _yeahs_ , as though he understood.

“You’re from Kalos?” Kiawe blinked. He’d heard a Kalosian accent before, on TV, and it had sounded nothing like the kid’s. The kid looked up at him and grinned.

“Nope,” he said, “but we travelled there last year! I’m from Pallet Town, in Kanto.”

The town didn’t ring a bell, but Kiawe knew of the region well enough. He’d never been outside Alola—never travelled further than his charizard’s wings could carry him—but Kanto’s battle circuit was _famous_ , both for being traditional—as far as gym challenges went—and wildly unpredictable.

“And you came all this way to deliver an egg?”

 _“And_ see Alola.” The kid jostled his pikachu, looking down at it with a grin. “We want to travel all over and see everything the world has to offer—right, buddy?”

“Pika pika!” the pikachu said.

They lapsed back into silence, though it didn’t feel as stilted as before. Kiawe led the kid down the stairs, round a corner, down another long corridor, through three sets of doors, and paused when the kid stopped to look at a long mural dedicated to graduated students’ work.

“Hey—” Kiawe halted, realising, abruptly and embarrassingly, that he couldn’t recall the kid’s name. “... What did you say you were called?”

The kid shifted his pikachu back up onto his shoulder, hands lifting absently to adjust his cap. “My name’s Ash,” he said, as though it was a tagline he’d said a thousand times before, “and this is my partner, Pikachu!”

Pikachu trilled a greeting, looking like a completely different pokémon when compared to the frowning, unfriendly thing it’d been outside the principal’s office. Kiawe half-bowed, reflexively, then paused—and frowned, curiously.

“That’s not what the principal called you,” he pointed out. The kid—Ash—brought a hand to his chin, cupping it thoughtfully.

“Oh, yeah, he called me _Satoshi_ —” he said it differently to the principal, accent thick and musical— “which is my _real_ name. But _Ash_ is easier to remember.” A little sheepishly, he added, “And _Satoshi_ makes me feel like I’m in trouble, or somethin’.”

“Ash, then,” Kiawe said, decisively. Ash beamed from ear-to-ear and followed him out into the school courtyard, towards the wide-open gates. “C’mon, I know a really cool—”

His words died in his throat at a familiar, frustrated bellow. Out on the street, tail a blazing line, his charizard—fire-fanged and fuming—stood off against a gaggle of jeering teens. The boys’ hair was buzzed down beneath their matching caps; silver chains hung low round their necks.

“Hey,” Kiawe shouted, then broke out into a sprint, Ash hot on his heels. “Hey!”

“What’s going on? Kiawe, what’s—”

“Skull Gang,” Kiawe snapped, distractedly. “Thugs and thieves—dropouts from the Island Challenge.”

“Thugs and thieves,” one of the teens—a boy, slightly taller than the rest, with lazy, vicious eyes and terrible posture—echoed, once they were in earshot. Kiawe put himself between them and his charizard, Ash not far behind him, and balled his fists by his hips. “Yeah, that’s right.” He nodded at the charizard. “That thing’s a beast,” he said. “Y’know, they don’t loan ride ‘mons out to us, anymore, not since what happened to them tauros. What d’you say you help me out and—”

“No,” Kiawe snarled. His charizard gave a throaty warble, wings spread in defiance. “You’d have to kill me.”

The teen cocked his head, considering. Then: “Careful what you wish for,” he said, and though the lower half of his face was obscured, the grin in his words was audible. “I want that charizard. ‘M gonna _get_ that charizard. So I won’t ask you again: make this easy for us both ‘n’ hand it over.”

“He said no,” Ash spat, bristling. The Skull gangster’s eyes wandered over to him, as though only just taking note of his presence.

Then: “Fine. We’ll do it the hard way.”

He reached for his belt, as did the others, and a hoard of pokémon were released. _Nine,_ Kiawe counted: a houndour, three golbat, a grimer—“Woah,” Ash muttered, despite himself, “I’ve never seen a grimer like _that_ before,”—three salandit—“And I’ve never seen _that_ pokémon before, either,”—and a drowzee.

“Ash,” Kiawe said, reaching for his own belt and releasing his turtonator, “get behind me.”

“Get _behind_ you?” Ash sounded incredulous; Pikachu echoed his trainer’s sentiments. Kiawe spared him a glance and saw nothing but conviction in his face. “I want to help! Nine against one isn’t fair!”

“I can handle them on my own! Look,” Kiawe started, “I know you’re not from here, but these guys are strong.”

“And I’m _not?”_

Kiawe didn’t have an answer to that. “I don’t _need_ your _help,”_ he insisted.

The boys stared at one another, unblinking, until a shout of “Flame burst!” drew their attention back to the battle.

“Dodge it!” Kiawe shouted, and his turtonator moved to the left. “Use—”

“Denkō sekka!”

Something moved in Kiawe’s peripheral, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it blur, and the drowzee was thrown back into the school wall with enough force to crack the brickwork. Kiawe looked back at Ash, stunned.

“It’ll be better if we work _together,”_ Ash insisted. “Pikachu, jūman boruto!”

Using its tail as a springboard, Pikachu shot out of the way of a countering sludge bomb from the grimer and blasted the closest golbat with a blinding thunderbolt, bringing it down in one hit. Off to the side, the drowzee had peeled itself—barely standing—from the wall, and a well-placed iron tail finished it off.

Pikachu moved so quickly Kiawe could scarcely follow its movements. It seemed to half-anticipate Ash’s commands before they came, like it knew what he was going to say even before he had the chance to think about it himself, and filled in the gaps itself.

They fought in perfect sync. It was like they’d been doing it for years already. It didn’t make any _sense._

Not wanting to be left behind, Kiawe called, “Flamethrower, Turtonator!”—but the long column of fire was blocked by the houndour, who absorbed the heat into its tiny body and seemed to glow with it. _Flash fire,_ he thought, _of course._ “Try dragon tail instead!”

That hit its mark, knocking the houndour out of the way, but while Turtonator was retreating, one of the remaining golbat hit it with a nasty air cutter, and the grimer nailed it head-on with a sludge bomb. The second golbat’s acrobatics was deflected with shell trap, though, and it fluttered away unevenly, badly charred.

“What was _that?”_ Ash’s eyes were huge and starry, hands fisted by his face.

“Shell trap,” Kiawe muttered. Ash’s enthusiasm for the smallest things even in the heat of battle was—jarring, almost, like he didn’t fully realise the gravity of the situation. Like this was _fun_ for him, despite the stakes. “Are you okay?” he asked, once Turtonator made it back to his side. His partner shook itself out with a determined grunt, eyes hard as flint.

He surveyed the situation. Pikachu was right in the thick of it, deflecting dragon claws with iron tail and narrowly avoiding sludge bombs and air cutters, but Kiawe could tell that the electric type was becoming overwhelmed. “Ash,” he said, “can you and Pikachu take out that houndour?”

Loathe as he was to admit it, even nine against two was a skewed fight. He could end it, but that houndour _needed_ fainting. Its resistance to fire was lethal in a battle like this.

Ash cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted a command to Pikachu, who quickly fired off an electro ball in response.

The houndour dodged the first, skittering in close for a fire fang, but a second electro ball nailed it right in the face, and a subsequent thunderbolt finished it off. “Good job!”

Around them, the wind shifted. Reflexively, Kiawe glanced up at the trees—and was met with nothing but leaves and the strange, oppressive feeling of being watched.

Pikachu landed at Ash’s feet, cheeks sparking. “Den—”

“Ash, wait.” Kiawe stepped past Ash, thumbing his Z-ring. “Leave the rest to me.” Ash opened his mouth in wordless protest—then closed it when Kiawe began to move.

He crossed his arms over his chest, spread them wide, then crossed them at the wrist, out in front of him. Heat blazed through him, hotter than the sun, than Wela Volcano’s simmering cauldron, and his arms went up, over his head—then his left arm bent, hand at the elbow of his extended right arm. He felt, bodily, his energy swell—then shift, pushing outwards, towards Turtonator, _into_ Turtonator, and knew, by his partner’s rasping growls, that it could feel it too.

The world fell away, until there was nothing but him, his pokémon, and the cowering opponents. He inhaled, drawing on the power of the earth beneath him—

And then he let it go.

Everything was red and orange and blisteringly hot, and then it was black with thick, rolling smoke, but that cleared, after a minute, leaving scorched earth and pokémon alike. The thugs took one look at their collapsed pokémon and panicked, recalling them all and fleeing with jeering threats of revenge and accusations of _unfairness._ Kiawe watched their retreating backs as he fought to regain his breath, skin sticky with sweat.

“What,” Ash said, once the gang had vanished, “was _that?”_

And Kiawe couldn’t help but explain the history as he knew it: the legends of the deities fighting great and powerful demons; the way their power, far-flung across Alola, had caused rocks to mutate into Z-crystals; the heroes that had lent their life forces to the guardians to use special Z-moves to conquer evil; and now, how the Island Challenge honoured that.

“Foreigners don’t get it. That’s why it’s an _Alolan_ thing, and outsiders don’t usually get to use them.” Kiawe said—then faltered, remembering that _Ash_ was an outsider. It was strange, he thought, how one battle by the other boy’s side had caused such a shift in his opinion of him, from annoyance, to tolerance, to quiet admiration. “I mean—”

Back at school, the bell rang. Kiawe looked over his shoulder at it and realised that they’d spent so much time battling, and then he’d spent so much time explaining Alolan folklore, that he’d run out of time to show Ash around.

“You’ve gotta go, right?” Ash surmised, scratching just beneath Pikachu’s chin. Kiawe hummed, and then they were both quiet, standing a few feet apart under the Alolan sun.

“Hey,” Kiawe said after a few seconds of silence, voice stilted and awkward. Ash shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at him earnestly. “You’ll still be here tomorrow, right?”

“Uh huh.” Ash nodded.

“You know where Iki Town is?” Another nod. “There’s a festival there tomorrow, if you want to come. It’s to honour our guardian deity—It’s the god of conflict, so we battle one another to show our respect for It.”

As expected, Ash’s eyes lit up at the mere _mention_ of battle. “If you want,” Kiawe continued, “we can have a match. You’ll see more Z-moves, too. It starts at midday, so—”

“Al _right!”_ Ash punched the air; his pikachu mimicked him, perfectly synced. Their enthusiasm was infectious, Kiawe thought, when he realised he was smiling at them both. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then!”

He held out his hand. Kiawe stared at it for several long moments, before relenting and grasping it in his own.

“Yeah,” he said. “See you tomorrow!”

* * *

Alola was a really awesome place, Ash thought. Everything felt _slower_ here, than it did in Kanto, or Kalos, or anywhere else he’d been before, and the people all felt closer together, like everyone on Melemele was one big family.

By the time he made it to Iki Town, the sun was past its zenith, and the festival was in full swing. Huge torches lined the dirt paths, and market stalls were packed together just outside of them, selling food and trinkets and all kinds of things that Ash had never even _seen_ before. There was even an entire stall dedicated to little wooden totems of various pokémon—Pikachu was fascinated by one that sort of _looked_ like a pikachu but _wasn’t_ a pikachu (the lady who ran the stall said it was a _mimikyu,_ and that it wasn’t even an electric type) _,_ so Ash spent some of his pocket money some it and wore it around his neck on a little string.

Adjacent to that stall was a malasada hut. Ash spent even _more_ of his pocket money there, and came away with a bag of eight for him and Pikachu to share.

He met up with Kiawe by the battlefield in the middle of town, where two trainers were locked in fierce battle: on the one side was a girl in overalls with bright green hair— _Mallow,_ Kiawe said, who was one of his classmates—commanding a small, round, pink pokémon; on the other was a tan-skinned kid commanding a pokémon that sort of looked like a hoothoot, only cuter.

The kid’s pokémon tucked in its wings and nailed the girl’s pokémon head-on with a nasty-looking peck; it bounced across the pitch aimlessly, and when it rolled to a halt, it was unmoving.

“Mallow’s bounsweet is unable to battle,” said an old man up in a makeshift referee chair. “Hau and their rowlet are the winners!”

The gathered crowd shouted something in Alolan, then burst into congratulatory cheers.

“That’s Hau—they’re that guy’s grandkid,” Kiawe explained, nodding up at the man in the referee chair. “And that’s Hala, Melemele’s Kahuna. He’s the strongest trainer on the whole island—he was chosen by the guardian Itself.”

“Woah,” Ash said, balling his hands up into fists. Kahuna Hala was a broad, powerful-looking man, wide and imposing despite his age—he looked kind of like Wulfric, only warmer, and he stirred that same urge to _fight_ in Ash, even from a distance.

He wondered if the kahuna would accept a battle request. Maybe not _now,_ because he seemed pretty busy, but later, if Ash transferred some of his pokémon over from Kanto...

“Next to battle are Kiawe, of Akala Island, and…” Kahuna Hala paused, brow creasing as he peered at the page. His voice came out stilted when he resumed speaking. “Ash, from Pallet Town, in Kanto.”

Ash looked at Kiawe. Kiawe looked at the ground.

“Oh, yeah, I signed us up already,” he admitted, a little too late. “Honestly, I thought you wouldn’t be here in time.”

But Ash was never late to a battle if he could help it, not even one he didn’t know about. He beamed, and Kiawe offered him a tentative half-smile back.

The boys took their respective places on either side of the battlefield, while Kahuna Hala began to run through the basic rules: both trainers had the use of one pokémon, and the battle wasn’t over until one side’s pokémon had fainted. Z-moves were permitted, providing the trainer could use them—and here, Kahuna Hala looked pointedly at Ash’s bare wrist, who rubbed it absentmindedly, then looked over at Kiawe’s, and at the glittering Z-crystal embedded in the ring’s face.

Kahuna Hala called for them to release their respective pokémon, and Turtonator appeared in a flash of red light. Ash looked down at Pikachu.

“You ready, buddy?”

“Pika pi- _ka!”_ Pikachu said, which Ash took as an emphatic _yes._

Kahuna Hala looked between them both for a moment, lifted one brow at Pikachu, then leaned back in his seat. Ash swallowed the familiar urge to defend his partner’s right to battle at his side and turned his attention to Kiawe.

“Begin!”

“Flamethrower!”

“Thunderbolt!”

Fire and lightning clashed in the middle of the battlefield, throwing up dust and dirt.

“Don’t let up! Use electro ball!” Ash yelled, and Pikachu fired off an attack that blew the debris away and hit Turtonator head-on. Admirably, Turtonator shook it off. “Keep back and use thunderbolt again!”

“Smog!”

Turtonator spewed a thick, purple cloud of vile-smelling gas, and it was like Lake Acuity all over again. Ash grinned.

“Counter shield, Pikachu!” But Pikachu was already throwing itself to the ground, whipping up a whirling storm of electricity that dispersed the smog and struck Turtonator hard. Kiawe said something in Alolan that Ash didn’t understand, but it sounded disbelieving.

“Flamethrower, again!”

“Dodge to the left and start running!”

The flames caught Pikachu’s flank, and though it squealed in pain, it rushed in towards Turtonator regardless. And it wasn’t anything special, but Ash still felt this bright-happy swell at the way Pikachu trusted him unflinchingly, even when it was hurt.

“Now use iron tail!”

Ash watched Kiawe’s expression change: first focus, then incredulity, then arrogance—

“Shell trap!”

—and Turtonator turned its back, jagged armour glowing white-hot, just like Ash expected. Pikachu lunged one, two, three strides, tail hard as steel—then flipped, twisting at the hips, and drove its lower body _down_ into the soil at Turtonator’s feet, exactly as they’d planned.

The ground erupted, dust and jagged junks nailing Turtonator’s shell. Pikachu sprang upwards, momentum carrying it out of the way of the triggered explosion—“Again, Pikachu!”—and nailed Turtonator in the throat.

“Quick attack, while it can’t see you! Don’t let up!”

“Pika!”

Kiawe bared his teeth in perplexed frustration. “Get out of the way, Turtonator! Use flamethrower to cover your retreat!”

A plume of fire scorched what was left of the dust cloud, but Pikachu moved far too quickly for Turtonator to escape easily: again and again, it shoved Turtonator back, until—

“Dragon tail!”

“Iron tail!”

—once more, the two clashed, matching each other blow after blow. Ash could feel the ache in his muscles, tension building to a fever pitch inside him, like all the world’s power was held in his chest. Turtonator shifted its weight; Pikachu followed too quickly and was punished for it, knocked across the pitch back towards its trainer.

“Get up, Pikachu!” Ash snapped. There was no room for kindness, not here. “You can keep going, right?”

Pikachu rolled to its feet with a sharp, defiant cry.

“Alright, use—”

Kiawe’s open palm met the ruby Z-crystal on his wrist. Ash’s command died in his throat.

“Change of plan,” he said. “Stay where you are.”

It was different, watching it from the other side of a battlefield, rather than from side-by-side with Kiawe. There was something _dangerous_ about it from this end, something _terrifying,_ a heaviness that felt entirely too big for any one trainer and their partner, like it was going to eat them all alive.

“Pikachu,” Ash said. Pikachu’s ears twitched backwards, though its eyes remained locked on Kiawe’s turtonator, and on the swirling Z-move growing ahead of it. “It’s just like we practiced. Don’t lose your nerve.”

Pikachu mumbled something that sounded a little exasperated, like it was saying, _when have I_ ever _lost my nerve?_

Inferno overdrive drew closer. Ash counted them down: five, four, three, two, one—

“Now!”

Pikachu rushed into the path of the flames, heedless of the searing heat. Iron tail smashed downwards; quick attack shot Pikachu upwards; and it launched itself out of the way.

The battlefield erupted, all black smoke and blistering fire. Pikachu tucked its tail into its body, pulled its head into its chest, and spun over and over, letting loose a blinding thunderbolt in a mid-air countershield. When it touched down on charred earth, it was panting, but mostly unharmed, the brunt of the Z-move dodged and diffused.

“You did it, Pikachu!”

Pikachu tossed its head over its shoulder and gave a happy _chaa._

In the aftermath, the battle’s relentless pace slowed just enough for Alola to come rushing back in, and Ash re-realised that they had an audience—and that they had gone deadly silent. He turned, bewildered, and saw a sea of blank, open faces looking back at him. He touched his hand to his cap uncertainly, and was met with hushed murmuring in a language he didn’t understand and the strange feeling he’d somehow messed up.

“You…” Across the pitch, Kiawe pushed his hands through his hair, voice bizarrely numb. His turtonator, exhausted, dropped to one knee, shaky but still conscious. “Ash, you—”

“Did I do something wrong?” Ash blurted. He’d never battled anyone from Alola before, never faced a Z-move or attended an Alolan festival, and the way everyone was looking at him made him feel as though _dodging_ wasn’t what you were _supposed_ to do when staring down such a ferocious attack.

But Pikachu was _fast,_ not a tank, and Ash knew just how overwhelming Kiawe’s turtonator could be, from the way it had beaten all those Skull Gang pokémon like they were nothing. _Enduring_ a Z-move didn’t seem like the smartest tactic.

“No, it’s just—how did Pikachu _know_ to do that? How did you—you didn’t even tell it to do anything!”

“Oh,” Ash said, “we came up with it last night, after you said you’d battle me. I knew you’d wanna use that _awesome_ Z-move again, and I knew we’d not stand a chance if we didn’t have some way to counter it!”

“But how did you know it’d _work?”_

Ash rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t! But I believed in Pikachu, and when you believe in your pokémon, you can do super crazy things that don’t even seem _possible_ at first!”

Kiawe gaped at him; it was a look Ash had seen before, on rivals and gym leaders and expert battlers of all kinds. Up in the makeshift referee’s chair, Kahuna Hala cleared his throat.

“Your pokémon are both still standing,” he pointed out, tone level in the way adults’ voices went when they were trying to seem like they weren’t caught off-guard, “and neither of you have forfeited.”

… But Turtonator looked like it was struggling. Z-moves were strong, sure, but great power took great tolls. If Pikachu could land one more solid hit…

“Quick attack!”

“Shell trap!”

Turtonator lowered its head, bracing itself, and turned its back. Pikachu rushed towards its glowing armour at a breakneck pace, closing the distance between them with long strides—

And slammed, face-first, into something else entirely, a yellow blur flung out into the middle of its path. Dazed, Pikachu stumbled, barely maintaining its balance, and when it recovered, it found itself staring up at a—a _creature._

Ash didn’t recognise it, but he felt like he was _supposed_ to, because the little audience surrounding the battlefield went very, very loud—then silent, suddenly. He looked around and saw that their heads were bowed, like they were praying, and Ash got the feeling that this pokémon was someone important.

But if he was supposed to kneel, too, the pokémon didn’t give him the chance to. Energy flared across the battlefield, turning the world yellow; every hair on Ash’s body stood straight up, and fingers twitched relentlessly. A moment later, lightning erupted from the pokémon’s core.

“Dodge it!” he shouted. Pikachu dived out of the way of the discharge; Turtonator wasn’t so lucky, toppling with a low, agonised groan. Distantly, Ash heard Kiawe call out—and then everything narrowed down to Pikachu and that strange, powerful pokémon.

And sure, Ash didn’t know what species it was, nor did he understand just why everyone seemed so cowed by its presence, but he knew a challenge when he saw one. It didn’t take an expert to recognise when a pokémon wanted to fight.

Battling was his _favourite_ language.

“Electro ball!” Pikachu flung the attack wide, arcing towards the pokémon’s vulnerable middle, but it cleaved through it with a steel wing and countered with a dazzling gleam that sent Pikachu flying. It rushed in close, readying another steel wing, and—“In, Pikachu! Roll and use iron tail!”—Pikachu twisted narrowly out of the way, connecting with the back of the pokémon’s skull with a painful-sounding _crack._

“Keep pushing! Thunderbolt!” Ash shouted, but it was too late—even after taking an iron tail, the pokémon had the awareness and speed to snap its wings shut around its body, creating a kind of protective armour that the thunderbolt glanced harmlessly off. Another dazzling gleam threw Pikachu down with such force that it dented the ground at Ash’s feet, but it struggled resolutely to stand. “That’s it, Pikachu! Use—”

Ash cut himself off. The pokémon was right in front of him.

It leaned forwards until the base of its feathered crest brushed the brim of Ash’s cap—then shifted, rummaging, only to press something against Ash’s stomach. Reflexively, he brought his hands up, cupping them around the object, and when he looked down, he saw a Z-ring, just like Kiawe’s, embedded with yellow.

“For—is this for me?” He asked, because Kiawe had been telling him, only earlier, that Z-rings and Z-moves were an _Alolan_ thing, and that the natives were stingy with their acceptance of foreign use of them. It had felt, at the time, like a subtle warning not to get his hopes up about getting his hands on that sort of power, and Ash had been disappointed, because they were so _cool._

But pokémon were weird things, and Ash had learned, regions ago, that his journey wasn’t an ordinary one. He slipped the Z-ring onto his left wrist, testing the weight of it.

“You want me to use a Z-move? Right _now?”_

It tapped the Z-crystal in response, igniting it. Ash grinned.

“I don’t know what to do, but we’ll give it a shot—right, Pikachu?” he said. Pikachu looked a little worse for wear, all scraped up and shivery with adrenaline, but its eyes were full of determination.

Across from them, the pokémon trilled, feathers puffing up, and Ash didn’t need to speak its language to know that it said _I’ll show you._

And it did. It backed itself up, all the way over to where Kiawe _had_ been standing but wasn’t anymore (and Ash hadn’t seen him and Turtonator evacuate, but it didn’t really matter, now) and began to guide Ash and Pikachu through the steps.

Ash crossed his arms in front of his face and the Z-crystal blazed with light, emitting a faint buzz that diffused down his arm all the way up to his shoulder. He pushed his arms out, then crossed them at the wrists, extended parallel to the ground, and the soles of his feet began to burn, lungs constricting almost painfully in his chest, as though something was growing there and trying to make room for itself. His left arm swung across his body to the right, then his whole weight shifted left, and then he did this… pose, with his arms, that was tricky to orient but felt _right,_ somehow, like his arms were _naturally_ meant to be held like that.

His heart felt like it was going to explode. He’d felt… intense, before, with Gekkouga, like there were two souls smashed together into one space, like he was melting from the inside out and the only way to curb it was to go faster, harder, _stronger,_ but _this_ was—this was like a coil all wound up inside him, and there was only one way to escape the pressure.

He had to release it.

* * *

Hala had presumed—in all his years serving as Melemele Kahuna—that he’d come to know Tapu Koko’s motives and behaviours better than anyone. His understanding was far from perfect—nobody could ever truly hope to fathom a god—but Tapu Koko was more transparent than Alola’s more deceptive deities. Much like war, It was brute-headed, capricious, and unyielding.

Tapu Koko was drawn to strength, and Hala had trained for _decades_ to earn Its attention in full, even for but a fraction of a second.

And that boy… that _foreigner…_

The boy was completely irreverent—out of ignorance, surely—and Tapu Koko had _presented_ Itself to him, bestowed a _gift_ upon him, _battled_ him, _tutored_ him in the use of a Z-move—

Hala couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. But there was something _special_ about that boy—of that, he was certain. Anybody who drew the attention of a tapu was worth watching.

And Hala _would_ watch him.

* * *

“Ma’am, your package has arrived.”

“Have them contacted and the money transferred.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The man bowed, pivoted, and left, shoes echoing on the marble floor; behind his retreating form, the door slid shut automatically with a click, leaving the room silent and almost-empty. The researcher’s hand settled on the head of the salazzle at her side, fingers encircling the space between its eyes. The lizard pressed into the touch with a rumble of contentment, chest thrumming with a pleased snarl.

The researcher reached for the phone on her desk. She dialed a number and held it to her ear; it rang once, twice, three times, and then ticked as the receiver picked up.

“Hello?” the voice over the speaker called, scratchy and faraway.

“Alert the staff in Sector Eighteen; the President has a new job for them. The details will be sent to you shortly.” The researcher paused, mulling over her words carefully. “Let them know that failure will not be tolerated, and will result in termination.”

“... Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”

The researcher set the phone down. closed her hand over the computer mouse and clicked on a folder, opening a range of files. Expression inscrutable, she selected one of the videos and leaned back into her chair, fingers returning to her salazzle’s brow.

The footage rolled: a twisted, unnatural parody of a god, held at many metres’ distance by thick, unyielding metal poles operated by eight struggling men. It yowled and hissed, voice metallic and low, lean muscle rippling beneath an oil-spill black coat, and then tore itself free of its bonds, sinking its claws deep into the chest of the nearest man and snapping its beaked jaws around the shoulder of another, tearing sinewy muscle and flesh. Several more men entered the compound, armed with rifles, and opened fire: four more of them were ripped to pieces before the creature finally succumbed to its injuries.

It was… unstable, she thought, but all prototypes were, and the blueprints were promising.

And she’d gone to so much _trouble_ to get them. One way or another, she’d refine them, and perfect them.

The President’s—the _region’s_ —fate depended on her. She had no choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pikachu | Male, electric type.  
> Hardy nature. This pokémon is well-rounded.  
> Ability: Static. Contact with this pokémon may result in paralysis.  
> Moves: Thunderbolt, quick attack, iron tail, electro ball.
> 
> -
> 
> Turtonator | Male, fire/dragon type.  
> Relaxed nature. Physical defence is boosted; speed is decreased.  
> Ability: Shell armour. This pokémon is immune to critical hits.  
> Moves: Flamethrower, dragon tail, smog, shell trap.
> 
> Charizard | Male, fire/flying type.  
> Mild nature. Special attack is boosted; physical defence is decreased.  
> Ability: Blaze. When weak, this pokémon's fire-type attacks become massively powerful.  
> Moves: Flamethrower, air slash, dragon breath, slash.


	2. A Rocky Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ash receives an offer from Hala and makes a new friend. In other parts of the world, things are... less optimistic.

“The _good_ news is that your pikachu hasn’t sustained any permanent damage,” Nurse Joy said, “and neither have you.”

She swabbed the last of the blood from Ash’s arm, which was all scraped up from his Z-crystal exploding, and wrapped it in several layers of gauze. Ash watched it all happen, feeling like the pain was still very far away, blocked by the excitement of the battle and the Z-move and wanting to make sure Pikachu was okay. Brock had always said that adrenaline was one hell of a drug—usually after Ash had gone and done something stupid, and gotten himself all beat up.

“But Pikachu will need several days’ rest before you can think about battling with it again,” she continued. “We’ll keep it for a while, just to make sure it’s stable, but you’ll be able to pick it up soon.”

Ash nodded forlornly. Much as he was relieved that Pikachu would be fine, he knew how much his partner hated having to sit around and do nothing. “Thanks, Nurse Joy,” he said. Nurse Joy looked at him for several long moments, as though she wanted to say something more, but she moved down the counter to address another trainer carrying a sick-looking poochyena without so much as a goodbye.

Though he was reluctant to leave Pikachu by itself, Ash traipsed back out of the pokémon centre. The sun was setting low over Hau’oli’s beachfront; children raced along its sands, chasing or chased by pokémon of all kinds, and men and women alike lay out on towels and in deckchairs, catching the last of the day’s light. Out here, things almost felt normal, like Pikachu wasn’t in intensive care.

Like they hadn’t fought a god.

Ash had understood, back when he’d been battling that strange pokémon, that it hadn’t been ordinary. There’d been something _off_ about it, this ancient aura that had flooded Ash’s every sense, but _still—_

When Kiawe had mentioned Tapu Koko on the day they’d first met, he hadn’t anticipated that he’d encounter it so soon. At _some_ point, maybe, because legendaries seemed drawn to him, almost, but never so suddenly, and never so _intimately._

… Then again, he hadn’t seen anything immediately miraculous in _Kalos,_ and fate never liked to leave him alone for long.

“Ah, Ash!”

If Ash had thought him wide and imposing from afar, up close, Kahuna Hala was a _wall_ of a man, and his loose, flowing clothing did nothing to hide his bulk. But there was something kind about his face, obscured as much of it was by thick, bushy, grey hair.

“Kahuna Hala,” Ash said, dropping his head. “Konbanwa!”

The locals, he’d learned, tended to look at him weirdly whenever he spoke Johtan—but in a good way, like he was a funny little novelty. Kahuna Hala was no exception; he barked out a loud, booming laugh, hands coming to rest on his gut.

“Alola to you too, my boy!” he said. “Kiawe said you might be here.”

“Is Turtonator alright?” Ash blurted. “I saw—when Tapu Koko first showed up, it fainted, and it looked pretty beat up.”

Kahuna Hala hummed approvingly, as though that’d been the right thing to say. “Turtonator’s a hardy thing,” he assured. “It’s tired, but it’ll recover! Kiawe’s more worried about you and your pikachu, actually.”

“... He is?” Ash asked, bewildered. He liked Kiawe, and thought he was a really great trainer, but there was something a little cold about the other boy, something that separated his skin from that sweltering fire beneath. He _was_ passionate, though, especially about pokémon, so Ash supposed his concern for Pikachu made sense. “Pikachu’s fine. It’s gotta stay in the pokémon centre for a bit, but Nurse Joy said I can pick it up soon!”

“Hah!” Kahuna Hala threw his head back. “It’s made of tough stuff, for a rat.”

Ash, bristling, opened his mouth to protest—but the gleam in the kahuna’s eye quieted him. There was something _wily_ about Hala, like everything he said was a test, in a way, of character, and of strength, and of Ash’s own understanding of things he didn’t even _know_ how to explain.

“Kahuna Hala,” he said, instead, “Kiawe said that Tapu Koko was the god of conflict. Is that why It battled me?”

The man hummed in thought. “Come! Walk with me,” he said, setting a heavy hand on Ash’s shoulder and beginning to steer him down Hau’oli beachfront, back towards Iki Town and away from the pokémon centre. “It’s true that our tapu is drawn to acts of great strength, and that we honour It through battle _because_ of that. But _great_ strength is not found in _children,_ Ash, and it isn’t found in pikachu, either.”

Again, Ash opened his mouth—then closed it. Kahuna Hala’s voice was low and serious, any previous levity drained from it.

“As Kahuna, I was chosen _by_ Tapu Koko to protect this island and its way of life, but even _I_ have only ever caught fleeting glimpses of our guardian. A meeting, once or twice, but nothing more. You’ve been here—what, a week?”

“Two days.”

The kahuna cleared his throat. “... Two days,” he amended, “and the tapu has already _battled_ you.”

They walked until they reached Iki Town, then walked some more, until they arrived outside a wide, low hut that kind of reminded Ash _of_ the kahuna himself. Hala led him inside, into a large, open room, where a makuhita was lounging on something that resembled a beanbag, and motioned for him to take a seat somewhere near it. He did, and the guts pokémon rolled to face him with a curious cry, gently smacking its rounded fist into Ash’s open palm in greeting.

Hala disappeared for some fifteen minutes, and returned with a steaming cup of herbal tea and a bowl of stew, which he passed to Ash without ceremony. “I thought you’d be hungry,” he said, while Ash inhaled the stew as though his life depended on it.

The kahuna waited until Ash was halfway through his mug of tea before speaking again. “So,” he began, watching the makuhita tumble into the boy’s lap, “Kiawe told me he’d told you about our Island Challenge.”

Ash shifted about until the makuhita’s weight was mostly over the bean bag. “Uh huh!”

“What d’you think of it? Sounds fun, no?”

He nodded emphatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but Kiawe said it’s not for _outsiders._ It’s an Alolan thing, like… like Z-rings.”

The kahuna stroked his moustache pensively. “Ordinarily, Kiawe would be right. The Island Challenge is a traditional rite of passage for young Alolan trainers—and Z-rings are sacred tools that allow us to wield Alola’s power. It’s only in particularly exceptional circumstances that we would deviate from that long-lasting standard.”

Ash frowned for a moment, thinking, and scratched absently at the inside of his left wrist, right beneath the cuff of his Z-ring. “Does that mean I have to give this back?”

There were a few beats of incredulous silence in which Hala simply _stared_ at Ash, mouth a thin, unyielding line.

“... Ash,” the kahuna said, very slowly, like he was talking to someone stupid. “you are the very _definition_ of an exceptional circumstance.”

Ash blinked. “I am?”

“Tapu Koko _Itself_ selected you to wield a Z-move. It sees something in you that _we_ haven’t recognised, yet, and the challenge is _designed_ to bring out a trainer’s hidden potential.” The kahuna trudged across the room to a tall set of draws and came back with an amulet embedded with shards of yellow, red, pink, and purple. “If you want to take part in it, I’ll endorse you.”

Wide and starry-eyed, Ash held the amulet close—then twisted around until he could clip it to his backpack, where it dangled proudly. “Arigatō gozaimasu, Kahuna!” he said, voice almost a shout. Startled, the makuhita in his lap slid down to the tiled floor and waddled over to Hala, who scooped it up in one hand as though it weighed nothing at all.

“Hah! Think nothing of it, my boy. If Tapu Koko wills it, then who am I to say no?”

It was, Ash thought, a humble way of looking at things. Kahuna Hala seemed utterly devoted to his service to Tapu Koko, as though his role in life was far bigger than just him, or Iki Town, or even Melemele as a whole.

“Thanks,” he said again, regardless.

Outside, a pokémon called out into the night.

* * *

Professor Kukui’s lab was… _loud._ There was no other word for it—it swayed, and it creaked, and there were holes in the walls and roof that were haphazardly patched up, and the murkrow that sat on one of the chest of drawers beside the downwards staircase kept cawing at the small, pink, bear-like pokémon watching it with black, beady eyes.

“That’s stufful—or _nuikoguma_ —the flailing pokémon. A normal and fighting type, bzzt! Stufful, despite looking cute, boast tremendous power, and are capable of punching _holes_ in people with ease! They’re aggressive and territorial, and will attack any stranger who tries to approach them, bzzt,” Rotomdex said, voice entirely too cheerful. Ash screwed his face up and inched backwards, holding Pikachu close to his chest.

“What d’you think, eh? Useful, right?”

“Yeah,” Ash said, watching the professor scoop the stufful up and scratch beneath its chin like it was a domestic eevee.

“Rotom’ll be a real big help to you, yeah, ‘specially since you don’t know Alola all that well! It’s programmed to give info in every language you can _think_ of, and it’s lived around here long enough to have that local experience too. You’ve used a pokédex before, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Then you know that all those boring, scientific journals are _actually_ worth reading, even if they put you to sleep?”

Ash tugged on the brim of his cap and threw Rotom a sheepish glance. “I know an app that condenses it all,” he admitted. Professor Kukui paused for a moment—then laughed.

“Fair enough, cousin! Rotom’s a real smart pokémon too, yeah, so I’m sure it’ll be able to summarise things for you, nice and easy. It’s autodidactic—”

“Huh?”

“Self-educated,” Kukui amended. “It records new data it sees and makes conclusions based on what that data _infers,_ so that it can gain a better understanding of the world around it.”

“Woah,” Ash said, though he didn’t really understand what the professor was talking about. “That’s so cool!”

Outside, the sun was high in the sky, and it was no quieter than within the lab. Corsola puttered about on the beach, pinker than any Ash had ever seen before, though with diminutive crowns—thanks to being preyed on by mareanie, or _hidoide_ , as Rotom gleefully explained—and a kid Ash recognised as Hau was sat on one of the rocks by the shore, their rowlet dozing in their lap, watching a pokémon that sort of looked like a sandcastle crawl slowly through the sand.

“That’s a sandygast—or _sunaba_ —the sand heap pokémon,” Rotom chimed, predictably, but whatever it said after that went to waste, because Ash had already broken out into a sprint towards Hau. _“_ Bzzt— _hey!_ I was talking!”

Ash ignored it, vaulting up onto the rocks beside Hau. “Hi—”

Hau leaned into Ash’s space, until their noses were mere inches apart.

_“You’re_ that guy who fought Tapu Koko, right?” they said, voice shrill and loud. Startled awake, their rowlet yawned, stretched, and started preening itself. _“Man,_ that was _awesome!_ Tutu always said Tapu Koko was elusive, but It went _right_ up to you! What’s It smell like? Was battling It scary?”

“Uh…” Ash glanced at Pikachu; Pikachu glanced back, bewildered. “I dunno…? It wasn’t scary, though. A battle’s a battle, no matter who you’re up against!”

“Yeah, but not a _legendary._ I mean, it’s not like you’ve ever fought one of _them_ before, right?”

Ash said nothing. Hau leaned back, squinting at him for a few moments, then grinned from ear to ear, folding their arms behind their head.

“Nah, you’re just messin’ with me,” they said decisively. “Kinda weird, though, that Tapu Koko chose to fight a _foreigner,_ of all people. Tutu’s always said that Alola should stay Alolan ‘cause that’s what the guardians want, but Tapu Koko didn’t seem to care about that at all! Hey—maybe you’ve got some Alolan in you?”

“Maybe,” Ash said, unconvinced. Hau was quiet for several seconds—then sat up straight, as though struck by lightning.

“Oh!” they shouted. “Almost forgot. My name’s Hau—Kahuna Hala’s my grandfather. This is my starter, Rowlet—” they jostled the bird in their lap, and Rowlet puffed out its chest, oozing pride— “and _this_ —” they reached into their pocket, pulled out a poké ball, and released a pichu in a flash of red light— “Is Pichu! Hey, Pichu, see that kid’s pikachu? That’s what you’re gonna look like, one day, and _then_ you’re gonna be a raichu! Cool, huh?”

“Pichu pi- _chu!”_

“Nice to meet you, Hau, Rowlet, Pichu,” Ash said, because even though he already knew Hau’s name, it’d have been rude of him to say so. “My name’s Ash, from Pallet Town, and this is my partner, Pikachu! Oh, and that’s Rotom.”

Rotom buzzed proudly. “At your service, bzzt!”

Hau did this thing where they tilted their head like a confused hoothoot and frowned at Ash’s waist. “... That’s it? You don’t have any other pokémon?”

Ash ran his hand over the side of Pikachu’s face. “Not _with_ me.”

“Well, you might wanna catch some, ‘cause when I did the first trial, I was attacked by _two_ pokémon at _once,_ and the totem pokémon—that’s the one you _have_ to beat—was _crazy_ strong. Like, it was surrounded by this super powerful _aura_ —”

Ash tensed up, shoulders going tight.

“—and it took both of my partners just to stand a _chance_ against it!”

“Pi kaa,” Pikachu cooed, and Ash nodded, rubbing his cheek against its shoulder fur. It was right—Hau’s pokémon were both _inexperienced,_ and Pikachu had felled all _kinds_ of powerful opponents. Taking down the _first_ totem wouldn’t be difficult.

… But he couldn’t use Pikachu for _every_ battle, and he didn’t _want_ to, either.

“You _could_ catch that sandygast, bzzt,” Rotom suggested, alighting on Ash’s backpack. Ash jumped—he’d almost forgotten about it—then watched the sandygast in question creep up along the shore, open its ‘mouth’ wide—

And swallow one of the corsola.

“Wait—!” Ash leapt to his feet, watching the sandygast sink slowly. “Pikachu, quick, do something!”

“Wait, Ash, sandygast are—”

Pikachu loosed a powerful thunderbolt, which struck the sandygast head-on—and dissipated harmlessly.

“— _ground_ types, bzzt,” Rotom finished, lamely. _“And_ ghost types. Most of Pikachu’s moves won’t do anything to it, bzzt!”

Though physically uninjured, the thunderbolt must have wounded the sandygast’s pride, because it reared back up to its full height and fired off a shadow ball. Pikachu’s cheeks sparked, ready to counter it, but another pokémon—small, brown, doglike—cleaved through the attack with a bite and raced towards the sandygast, throwing itself into it with another bite. The two scuffled, limbs flailing and sand being thrown about haphazardly, before the sandygast coughed up a pale, trembling corsola and melted away.

Ash watched, stunned, as the doglike pokémon pushed its muzzle underneath the corsola’s shock-frozen body and rolled it back towards its friends.

“That’s a rockruff—or _iwanko_ —the puppy pokémon, bzzt,” Rotom stage-whispered, completely immune to situational cues. “Rockruff are—”

_“Shh,_ Rotom,” Ash said, placing a hand over Rotom’s screen. “Hey, Hau, is that—”

“Nope, not mine,” Hau replied. “It hangs around the professor’s lab, but he’s never caught it. It’s always training out here, and sometimes it disappears and comes back all beat up, but nobody knows where it goes. The professor said it wants to get strong and learn rock throw someday, so it’d never be happy as a lab pokémon, but it’s never wanted to go with any new trainers, either. It sure is picky.”

“Kinda like Gekkouga,” Ash murmured, quiet enough that only Pikachu could hear him, and his partner squeaked an assent. His legs moved of their own volition, bringing him across the stretch of sand towards the rockruff, and he dropped to his knees a few feet away from it. “Hey!”

The rockruff picked its head up and looked at him, bright-eyed and inquisitive, tail wagging.

“You’re really cool, y’know,” Ash said. The rockruff’s tail wagged faster and faster until it was a blur behind it. _“And_ strong. I mean, Pikachu’s fought some _super_ powerful pokémon before, but even _it_ couldn’t do any damage to that sandygast at all, and you managed to rescue that corsola all by yourself!”

It was a white lie—Ash knew iron tail probably would’ve been enough, if he’d had the sense to use it—but the rockruff didn’t need to know that. He held out a hand and the rockruff pushed closer, sniffing Ash’s palm and licking his fingers, muzzle warm and tickly.

“Hau said you wanna get even stronger, and even learn rock throw. ‘S that right?” The rockruff yapped in response. “Y’know, I have pokémon that can learn all _kinds_ of powerful moves back home. Waruvial can use stone edge, and Gantle’s got a _super_ strong rock blast! If you _want,_ I’d love to help you master rock throw, and become the strongest rock type in Alola.”

The rockruff perked up, expression full of fire and fight. It was the sort of look that Ash sought in his pokémon: fierce, and determined, and unyielding, even in the face of hard work.

“We can make a deal,” Ash continued. “I help you learn rock throw, and you help _me_ beat my first trial.”

It sounded like a fair trade-off to Ash, and it seemed like the rockruff thought so, too, because it cocked its head, pondered the offer for a few moments, and then reared up, planting its paws on Ash’s shoulders and scraping his face with the rocks in its mane in what Ash _presumed_ was a big, resounding _yes._

“Seems like it likes you!” Hau called.

“Yeah,” Ash said, laughing around the rockruff’s brutal affection, “sure does!”

* * *

Ash was a weird kid, Professor Kukui decided. It had been painfully obvious that there was something unusual about him back at the festival, and Kukui’s suspicions had only deepened after speaking to him. The kid battled like a seasoned veteran, and there was something perspicacious and stress-hollow about his eyes, but he was so damn _small,_ like he hadn’t been _alive_ long enough to accrue any experience at all. He marvelled at the most insignificant things—a stufful, a particularly shiny rock, Kukui’s vast collection of hyper potions—but seemed utterly unbothered by the importance of Tapu Koko’s blessing.

Lunala’s _heavens,_ his partner was a _pikachu,_ yet together, they had stood valiantly against a _deity._ And now, the boy was out on the beach outside the lab, urging a rockruff that had rejected all other trainers—Kukui included—through a _ruthless_ training programme, running it up and down, attacking trees and rocks and invisible enemies alike.

“Tackle, Iwanko! Break through that boulder!” Ash shouted, and the rockruff—Iwanko—actually _listened_ to him, throwing its entire weight into a large stone. It bounced back, picked itself back up, and slammed itself into the rock several more times, until it cracked, then splintered, then crumbled apart.

Iwanko yowled, victorious, and barrelled into the kid, knocking him into the sand and rubbing its mane against his face. Kukui hadn’t ever seen the pup so _attached_ to someone. It was like it and Ash saw the world through the same eyes.

“Looking good, you guys!” he called from the porch. Ash sat up, hair a mess of sand, and held the rockruff against his stomach, beaming.

“Thanks, Professor! Iwanko’s really coming along, isn’t it?”

It was. Iwanko had always held potential, but it had lacked finesse: without someone to polish its jagged edges and hone its raw talent, it had been _promising,_ but never particularly special.

And they’d only been at it for under a week—Kukui had all but moved Ash into the lab, partly due to Iwanko’s wailing and whining whenever the kid tried to leave—but the improvement was undeniable. The rockruff moved more smoothly, body low like a predator’s when it loped about—and perhaps it was trying too hard, but there was something endearing about all that effort.

“Sure is, cousin,” he said. “What’re you plannin’ to do about teaching it rock throw, though? All this running up ‘n’ down is good, but it doesn’t do much for _that.”_

“‘Course it does!” Ash insisted. “It’s about focus, right? So you run up and down and channel all your energy into one big _push,_ and then you can do _anything!_ The more focus Iwanko has, the easier it’ll be for it to learn a new move.”

There was more to learning a new move than simple desire—Iwanko’s lack of success so far was proof of that—but the kid seemed so earnest about it that Kukui didn’t have the heart to say so; and, privately, he _was_ curious to see how successful this training method would be. He leaned back against the open door and watched Ash and Iwanko train for another twenty minutes, before the two of them stopped in front of the lab, breathing harsh and shaky.

“Hey, Professor, I know Nurse Joy said Pikachu can’t _battle_ for a bit, but can it use a move? Just so I can show Iwanko somethin’?”

Kukui shrugged. “So long as you don’t push it.”

The ‘ _somethin’’_ Ash wanted to show Iwanko, it turned out, was electro ball. Kukui didn’t get it, at first, but then the kid started talking about how just as when Iwanko used bite, it channelled all its energy into its teeth and thought ‘super mean thoughts’ to turn that focus into dark-type energy, channelling energy into your rear could yield attacks that spawned around the tail.

(At least, that’s what Kukui _presumed_ he was saying. Most of the kid’s explanation consisted of grand gestures and dramatic sound effects that didn’t communicate anything _technical,_ but definitely served to start a fire in the rockruff’s eyes, and maybe that was the point. Not cold, hard facts and clinical research, but willpower, and heart. Like this, Ash felt almost Alolan in his authenticity.)

“That’s what we did back when Pikachu was still learning iron tail, anyway,” Ash said, rubbing that spot behind the electric type’s left ear that made it melt happily into the ground. Then he stood, backed up, and waved his arms about. “‘Kay, Iwanko, you try it! Focus real hard, and aim at me!”

“Ash—”

“I know what I’m doin’, Professor!”

“Yeah, but—”

“Is this not _your_ preferred method of training, bzzt?” Rotom said, hovering about Kukui’s head, and the professor stopped protesting, after that, though his expression was flinty and nervous. _He_ was a grown man with a degree in this sort of thing. _Ash_ was an overenthusiastic child.

Iwanko barked and snarled, paws kicking up sand, and gave it a damn good go. At first, it managed little more than an entertaining little intimidation dance—but Ash kept shouting, and after a while, Pikachu joined in, and then Kukui called out some encouragement—

And _something_ happened. It wasn’t _quite_ rock throw, but the pebbles around Iwanko’s neck began to glow, and the air around its tail shimmered and warped like it _wanted_ to give into all that built-up power. Iwanko yowled; the air rippled and stilled; and then it flared again, and a small handful of rocks struck Ash’s crossed arms.

“I can’t believe it sort of _worked,_ bzzt!” Rotom marvelled, screen flashing as its database updated. “Satoshi’s not a bad trainer, bzzt.”

Kukui watched Ash run across the beach and fling Iwanko into the air, praising it in a dialect that the professor didn’t _fully_ understand, but also didn’t need to.

“No,” he agreed. “He’s really not.”

* * *

Ash crawled through the dense foliage, eyes still bleary with sleep. Pikachu, tucked in his pyjama shirt, dozed quietly; up ahead, Iwanko pressed on determinedly, leading Ash out of the forest and up onto a ledge overlooking a great, rocky outcrop.

“Whazzis’?” Ash murmured, shifting Pikachu into his arms and sprawling out on his stomach. Below, several pokémon gathered: some were recognisable, like the sudowoodo, or the braviary, or the magmar; others, like the two wolflike creatures perched higher than the rest, were utterly foreign to him.

Iwanko looked at them as though they were _gods._ They struck up an eerie howl, and the rockruff scrambled down the cliffside to the gathering. It was—beautiful, if unnerving. Ash felt cold all over, despite the humid warmth of the night.

Then the clustered pokémon scattered, pairing up, and Ash watched Iwanko prowl the edges, as though thinking, before throwing itself at a magmar. The magmar almost seemed to _expect_ the ambush, knocking Iwanko back with a blistering fire punch, and Ash abruptly realised what was going on.

These pokémon were _training_ with each other. Iwanko had been desperate to learn a rock type move for that _magmar._

… But rock throw was still so _new_ to the rockruff, and it was painfully apparent in the slow charge-up time. Iwanko retreated, trying to buy itself precious extra seconds, but flamethrower disrupted it, time and time again, pushing it into a corner. It was resolute, but Ash could see how quickly it was tiring.

“Dodge it, Iwanko! Use your surroundings and keep moving!” he shouted, unable to help himself. Crouched on one of the pillars overlooking the battleground, one of the two wolflike pokémon—reddish and bipedal—turned and fixed him with a narrow, crimson stare, but Ash didn’t quail.

They hadn’t really worked on dodging, during their training, but Iwanko was fast, and it was agile. The magmar closed in on it again with another fire punch, and Iwanko used the boulder behind it as footing to vault out of the way, springing higher and higher. The rocks around its neck glowed; the air around its tail bent, shimmered and snapped; and it flipped its body head over heels, firing off a vicious rock throw that nailed the magmar in the face.

It was the hit Iwanko needed to gather momentum. The pup rushed in and closed its jaws around the magmar’s arm, using that drive to swing out of the way of another flamethrower. Ash wanted to shout—to _command_ —but this wasn’t his fight, and Iwanko didn’t look like it _needed_ him, either. It ran circles round the magmar, summoned another rock throw, narrowly dodged one final, valiant fire punch—and then it was all over. The magmar hit the dirt, and when the dust cleared, it didn’t rise.

Ash watched the pokémon gather around as Iwanko helped its fallen foe up. Up on the pillars, the wolflike creatures started another howl; Iwanko threw its head back to join, and this time, it sounded like a victory song.

* * *

The girl was pale and thin, skin clinging to her bones, and her dress—once white—was a drenched, dirty shade of off-grey. Her hat hung low over her gaunt face, ripped at the top, and her hair was limp and filthy. She shook perpetually, didn’t look people in the eye, and when she spoke, she did so in a tremulous, whispering voice.

“Hello, is—is Professor Burnet here?”

“Who’s asking?”

“I, um—” the girl fidgeted, restless— “someone with information? Please, I just want to speak to her, I have—”

“Look, kid,” the analyst sighed, “this place isn’t safe for children, and the professor’s busy right now—”

_“Please,”_ the girl begged, fumbling with the zip on her bag, “I have—look, I just—”

The analyst fell silent, scrutinising the contents of her bag for several long seconds. “... Where did you get that?”

“I want to speak to Professor Burnet,” the girl insisted, closing her bag back up. “I’m not—I won’t speak to anyone until you take me to her. Please.”

The analyst muttered something under his breath, sharp and irritated _,_ then disappeared into the laboratory. He returned a few moments later, motioned for the girl to follow him, and led her down a silver, sterilised corridor towards a thick, metal door.

“In here,” he said. The girl swallowed, heart pounding in her throat, and pushed her way inside.

The lab was organised chaos, a mess of wires and humming computer monitors. Professor Burnet turned as the girl entered—and after a brief moment of hesitation, offered her a kind smile.

“Can I help you?” she asked. The girl tightened her grip on her bag strap and approached the professor on shaky legs, feeling as weak and unsteady as a newborn deerling.

“You’re researching the wormholes, right? You know about the ultra beasts?”

The colour drained from Professor Burnet’s face.

“It’s okay,” the girl said, quickly, mouth dry. “I already know all about it, I—I know—so… you don’t have to lie.”

She’d… _seen_ them, the ultra beasts, and she’d seen the atrocities they were capable of. She’d seen the things that were supposed to fight them, and she’d seen the atrocities _they_ were capable of, and the way they were treated, afterwards, for behaving according to their programming. She’d seen things that looked like people go in and out of portals that took them between dimensions, and she’d seen their numbers dwindle between missions, and then bulk back up as they were replaced by other not-people.

She’d seen experiments so unnatural, so unholy, her brain couldn’t comprehend them, even now. She’d… she’d _been_ an experiment, once. Some part of her still felt like maybe she was.

Absently, she rubbed at a sore spot behind her ribs, where the skin was raised and scarred.

Professor Burnet rose, splaying both hands on the desk between her and the girl. “I know _about_ them,” she admitted, finally. “I’m still researching what _causes_ the wormholes, though.”

“I can tell you,” the girl blurted. Professor Burnet blanched further, if such a thing was possible. “I can—please, I can tell you, just—can you promise—” she wrung her hands. “... Please, I need somewhere to—I need a place to stay, just for a while, and rest up, and—”

“Where are your parents?” Professor Burnet asked, impossibly gentle. The girl dropped her head and was quiet.

“... Please,” she repeated, feeling rather like a broken record. The professor approached her slowly, set one hand on her pale, freezing shoulder, and crouched in front of her.

“What’s your name?”

The girl shivered, and unzipped her bag. Nestled inside, a nebulous pokémon slept, so still it could very well have been dead. When she scooped it out and held it in her palms, it stirred, weakly, but did not wake.

She took a deep breath. “Can you fix it?” she pleaded, voice shrill and high. “I promise, if you fix it, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

* * *

The prototype looked rudimentary, but it wasn’t supposed to be pretty. It moved with its head weighed low, muzzled face dragging along the floor, and eyed the researcher through the thick pane of its cell warily.

It had learned, over time, not to lunge for the glass; its shock collar had corrected its people-aggression surprisingly quickly, and while the researcher didn’t trust it enough to enter a room with it, she felt secure enough in the knowledge that she had the power to immobilise it, should she ever need to.

It had never seen the world outside its cage; never known any life but one of solitude and imprisonment. Still, it was remarkably more docile than its predecessors had seemed on tape, even without any attempted socialisation.

And, despite its unattractive appearance, it was healthy, and it was _powerful._ Thick, corded muscle sat beneath its hide, and its claws—twisted, unnatural, utterly out of place—were broad and sharp. It looked—

It looked more like a weapon than a living creature.

She imagined the president’s beaming face, when she presented him with such a success. A _hero,_ he’d call her, most likely. He’d probably tell her she’d saved them all from certain doom.

The researcher smiled. If it remained stable until the end of the week, their battle trials could officially begin, and if it survived _those,_ they could work on mass-replication.

And then she’d be one step closer to a promotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Iwanko' (Rockruff) | Male, rock type.  
> Jolly nature. Speed is boosted; special attack is decreased.  
> Ability: Own Tempo. This pokémon is immune to confusion and the effects of intimidate.  
> Moves: Tackle, bite, sand attack, howl, rock throw.


End file.
